


Love It If We Made It

by mvtthewmurdvck



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, F/M, Love, Romance, Season 3 Canon, To a point
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-09-16 13:08:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16954623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mvtthewmurdvck/pseuds/mvtthewmurdvck
Summary: Season 3 Daredevil Spoilers Ahead.Benjamin Poindexter is a Special Agent working for the FBI. You are a member of the administrative team working at Metro-General Hospital. Will you be able to forgive Dex for how far he falls to protect you? Will you survive Fisk's game of chess?





	1. I

The way her skin felt against his made Dex’s heart miss a beat. He let his lips find her shoulder as she rolled over in his arms. Dex knew he had never been happier. Those eyes, the ones that stared at him as though he was someone, never mind a person she could believe in. It made him feel invincible. She found him, saved him, and loved him—as though it was the most natural thing in the world. 

The day Dex met her, he acknowledged that if anything ever happened to her, he’d undo the world. Dex had told her that one evening, and while she had laughingly called him  _dramatic_ , Dex knew she believed him. She didn’t think she was ever worthy of his love, even as— _and when_ —it surrounded her, but Dex would remind her that it was he who didn’t deserve her. Not that she ever listened to him. 

Y/N could be as stubborn as him, but what she usually felt stubborn over was something Dex could easily forgive. He found it endearing at times, finding her humble and unable to see her strength majority of the time. 

He hadn’t experienced a kind of love like Dex had with her, and if she left him, he wasn’t sure there would be anything left of him to rise out of bed. He felt dependant on her, but in a different way than he had with Mercer. Soon enough, she became someone he could open up too, and while Dex never felt like he  _must_  open up to her, it was always something he  _wanted to do._ He _continuously_  wished to be better  _for_  her. He wanted to be whole, healed and responsible person wherever he could. He  _wanted_  to be honest, even if the truth was sometimes too harsh to say, and even harder to watch settle on her face.

Brushing her hair from her face, the freckles on her cheeks greeting him as her smile grew more significant than he had ever seen it. 

“I dreamt of you,” she whispered sleepily. “You were making me a coffee...”

The grin that spread over her lips eclipsed all others, and Dex wasn’t sure his heart could get any fuller. He never wanted to let her go, not even this morning—especially when she was stretched out before him, curled into his body.

“That must have been  _real_  nice for you,” Dex quipped. “Did I do it quickly?”

Her lips moved into a smirk; her cheeks turned a soft peach colour. “Obviously, it was here before I even woke. Real-you is slacking,” she sighed jokingly, arching her back into him as he spread his hands up her vest top. “How’d  _you_  sleep?”

Dex brushed his nose and lips against her skin, needing to memorise everything about her, knowing it would be a little while until they could do this again. Work had become intense as of late, something he usually liked. Dex preferred to be busy, have his days structured and have a need, but when he met her, his structure shifted around her—needing to see her, wanting to be around her.

“Better with you  _here_ ,” Dex whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead, her eyes studying him as he bristled under the intensity of it. “What?”

Her head rolled against his pillow—the crisp whiteness of it in contrast to her hair. “This city is lucky to have someone like  _you_  protecting its inhabitants, that’s all.”

Brushing a hand through her hair, Dex licked his lips. “I want to protect you.”

“And you  _do_ ,” she grinned, her waist wiggling against the mattress. “ _My_  hero.”

Dex wanted nothing more than to stay here, even if it meant breaking the routine. He had been awake since six, his usual time he rose at, but she slept in longer than him—her accommodating nature not coming into effect with getting out of bed. He didn’t mind it, sometimes he went for a run, and sometimes he just accepted the peace and warmth of having her beside him.

> _Find a North Star, Dex._

Her kindness radiated from her, Dex first meeting her at the coffee shop. She had been ordering several drinks, her ear to her phone as she spoke to her mum—her hands scrambling for a notebook with hints at what she should be getting. Dex knew it would be a matter of time before she dropped something, not that she appeared clumsy—something he found she was a few weeks later. His attention had momentarily been stolen by Julie—the Julie from the suicide prevention centre, the Julie who drank her coffees from here. The Julie who almost lost him Y/N.

Dex hadn’t meant to bump into her, but when her notebook fell from her fingers, and her purse slipped from the crook of her arm—his eyes broke from Julie. They saw her, with those wide beautiful eyes, a blush crossing her cheeks as she dipped to the floor at the same time as him. It wasn’t instant, that would be foolish, but when her voice sounded, and her words hit his chest, Dex knew there was something about her.

And that was before she told him she was buying drinks for her work colleagues, just because.

“Hey?” She called, prodding her finger into his chest as his eyes snapped back to her, the light coming in through the window basking the room in golden hues. “Where’d  _you_  go?”

Dex shook his head absently, pressing a chaste kiss to her temple. “Nowhere. Do you fancy a coffee?”

She sighed happily, her eyes closing as she nodded. “Would love one.”

* * *

You didn’t want to rise from his sheets, the scent of his body wash and cologne hitting your nose as you pulled the sheets up to your face. You had work, but not for a while. Benjamin, however, he had a big day—which was as much as he could tell you. He told you he’d be out of touch for most of the day, that he was going to be out in the field, and he’d be moving someone from a high-risk prison. But that was where the details ended, and you tried to be okay with it.

Benjamin was a  _Special_  Agent—one trained by the FBI—so you knew he was capable of handling what _ever_  was thrown at him. He was an observant, precise, and structured person; he was the  _perfect_  person to help save lives.

And you knew that, but it didn’t make it any easier.

You were a natural worrier, a need embedded inside of you to heal and protect, but you couldn’t do that with ease for him. Benjamin had been honest about his diagnosis, opening up to you after a month as you sat in the park. You suspected he told you outside so you weren’t pressured or felt forced to understand, which only made you even more intent on wrapping him up in your arms and never letting go.

> _I can understand if you don’t want to see me again._

Those words would haunt you forever, you were sure of it.

They hung in his eyes when he snapped at you, and when you spat words back at him; they danced between you when his stare lingered a little longer, worried you’d leave. His insecurity, most of the times, didn’t affect the two of you, but sometimes—like this morning—you knew it was there. It crept over the walls, ready to taint, an otherwise, joyful moment.

Not that you would ever let it. You’d sat on your knees, his head on your shoulder as you consoled him, bits of porcelain all around you, his anger vibrating through his blood. But you knew he’d never hurt you; it was there even when the vein in his neck throbbed and his jaw gritted. Even when his fingers clenched into his fist, you knew Benjamin, of all people, wouldn’t let that hand touch you. Not like that.

The sound of the shower turning on made you smile, pulling you lightly back to the present. Your eyes wandered to the clock on the side table, a smile etching over your lips.  _Right on time_ , you thought to yourself, slowly stretching in his bed before sitting up. You raked your nails through your hair, wrapping your other arm around your knees, looking absently in his wardrobe. Everything in his home happened to be hung so correctly, so perfectly, you were _somewhat_  ashamed of how messy your own apartment was in comparison and the other half impressed you met someone who was so tidy.

Twisting yourself, letting your feet touch the floor, you rose as you stretched your back, hearing the kettle click. You liked being at Benjamin’s, it was always clean and tidy—unlike your own—but his mattress was far too stiff, something you only mentioned about a thousand times a month. He always told you to buy a new one, and while you knew you could, you didn’t exactly want to disrupt him by being fussy. Not when he slept soundly, and when it was  _his_  place. 

You weren’t one to break his routine. You had learned that mistake once and knew better than anyone not to do it again. It had ended in an argument, fear in his eyes as he became redder and redder, anger-filled words hurling at you because you had tried to clean up. He apologised, but it still haunted you enough to know better than to interfere again.

“ _Y/N_?”

Your head turned to the doorway, his face appearing around the bathroom door, condensation swirling around him. He always looked peaceful post-shower, the pink dotted skin, the hair all out of place and unstyled. Dex was so put-together, so effortlessly clean in how he looked, it was a welcomed surprise to see him relaxed, a little messy—something you never saw often.

“ _Yes_?” You smirked, placing a hand on your hip.

He smiled softly, raising his arm as your eyes glanced over the flexing muscles as he rubbed the towel over his hair. “You mind grabbing me a shirt? The wh—“

“ _White_  one on the left,” you interrupted with a knowing smile, pulling it from the hanger as you moved out into the living room. 

Benjamin’s fingers wrapped around it, his thumb brushing yours as you used your other hand to wipe a bead of water from his cheek.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You rolled your eyes teasingly as you turned your back to him. “I think you’d cope getting a shirt just fine,  _Benjy_.”

* * *

Dex replayed his morning over and over again.

It was something he did more often than not, a need to replay her words when stressful situations arose. A desire to remember the way her lips felt as they brushed over his cheek and his fingers moved over her hip. It calmed him; it  _centred_  him. Particularly now as he fastened his vest. He relished working in the field, his hands finding a weapon, his abilities able to be flexed and proven. When he sat behind a desk, Dex found his inner compass shifting off base, struggling to keep the urges and day-to-day anger—caused by his colleagues—at bay. 

Her voice usually soothed him. A mid-work call, hearing her ask him if he was okay—knowing he wasn’t. 

Straightening his spine, letting out a sigh, Dex ran his fingers through his hair as the sharp white words on his chest met his eye in the mirror:  ** _FBI._**

It made  _him_  proud. He wondered fleetingly if Mercer would be impressed with him, pleased he had managed to build such a structure, delighted that he had excelled so well to progress to be a special agent. He bet she would be overjoyed that Dex had managed to find someone to spend his life with—someone who leads him to be better whenever she could.

Dex stared at the brief on the bench, the strong letters:  _Inmate 55467._  He knew who that was—he knew the kind of person Wilson Fisk was, but his duty still remained to protect him.

He pressed his hand against his trouser pocket, where a small photograph of Y/N was. He kept it there whenever he went out on the field, ever since the first week they had met.

Dex had never told her. He never mentioned that the first day they met. He had known she was something special, he just purposely bumped into her a week later. She went there every day, always around the same time, he liked that she also kept to a schedule. He waited a few days, not wanting to scare her, and approached her again, cutting ahead to order her drink for her, having seen the move used by others in the past.

Of course, it hadn’t been her drink, but she laughed all the same.

> _“Do you want to buy me my actual drink, Mr?”_  
>    
>  _“Poindexter. Benjamin Poindexter. But, if I’m honest, I prefer Dex.”_

With his name scrawled on a takeaway cup, while hers was hidden from view, the two sat at the windowsill as he watched her chat animatedly, as though the two of them had been friends forever. She didn’t find him awkward or uncomfortable, even in the long silences; she didn’t seem to mind that he watched her intensely as she spoke, she just assumed he was paying attention. Y/N didn’t feel threatened by him, not that she had any need too, and when she announced she had to go, Dex thought he’d have to continue to call her Coffee-Shop-Girl.

> _“Here,” she smiled, as sweet as ever. “I’m not usually one for business cards, but I am actually running late if I either wait for you to ask or I     swap numbers. I work in the local hospital, I’m… administration, nothing fancy like you.”_
> 
> _Dex held the card between his fingers, his index stroking the back of it. “I’m not fancy… Y/N.”_
> 
> _“Yeah well, I don’t save lives then. I’m just a paper-pusher. Anyways, if you fancy slumming it with a paper-pusher, give me a call.”_

He hadn’t expected her lips to meet his cheek, he hadn’t prepared for the sudden contact or ambush of someone in his space, and thankfully he didn’t react. Not like he was used too, not like he happened to be  trained for. His body instead went slack, her warm touch spreading through him, warming every fibre of him as he felt himself glow from the contact.

It was so long ago now, almost eleven months, Dex wasn’t sure how quickly time had gone.

“Poindexter? You all set?”

He looked up sharply, his eyes meeting his colleague Agent Andrews. His thoughts were scattered for a second, just a blink of his eyes, before Dex nodded. Dropping his hand from his side, a protective need to keep the photo a secret, Dex straightened his spine before placing the radio in his ear. He moved through the other checks, pistol, bullet-proof vest, and the medical pack attached to his side. Dex only nodded again when he had done that.

“Can’t believe we’re helping move  _scum_  like Fisk,” Andrews said.

Dex slowly smirked, choosing to say nothing.

Andrews handed him an extra round. “If we die for him….”

Reaching to take it, Dex nodded in gratitude. “We won’t be dying for  _no_  convict, Andrews.  _Alright_?” Andrews patted his shoulder, the two of them sharing an understanding. 


	2. II

Benjamin was,  _and is_ , a Special Agent.

He’s educated in tactics. He makes  _challenging_  choices for a living, and he has defended the city every instant he has had. Benjamin had been trained for situations like the ones you saw on the television, he had been prepared for them long before he had even joined the FBI. 

Even when you knew that; even though you had known what dating him was getting yourself into, none of it felt ‘easy’. Not as the words ‘ _convoy_   _attacked’_  and ‘ _agents down’_  met your eyes, work that was  _not_  registering in your head.

The papers you had been in the midst of filing were hovering in the air, so close to falling to the ground and covering the floor in a mess. A mess you would need to clean up when your brain had kicked back into gear; a mess that would cause disruption, even though you knew your entire shift would now be one massive disruption as you watched the news. 

You were sure your heart had stopped at some point. It had been in a brief moment between realising what had happened and acknowledging that Benjamin had been out in the field tonight. By law, he hadn’t been able to tell you what he would be doing, which you had always understood. But not knowing, and now seeing this, the world your feet were planted against was shaking beneath you, already  _knowing_ , already having felt that Benjamin was out there. 

A part of you knew he  _wasn’t_  dead, but you couldn’t convince yourself he was okay. You couldn’t, not as your eyes focused on the number of bullet holes left behind in the vehicles the camera was panning around.  

Even if Benjamin’s accuracy was unparalleled, nothing was stopping a bullet from meeting his skin. Not unless he was about to tell you his mental health made him bulletproof. And while, Benjamin  _had_  proven his skills at the carousel ground, winning you a teddy that was still sat on your bed, Benjamin couldn’t  _out_ - _skill_  a bullet. He  _couldn’t_. 

No one  _could_.

Your stomach knotted as you thought about it, a bullet hole in his chest or neck, the places your hands often brushed against. You thought of him in pain, not able to soothe him, not knowing where he was. A sob emitted from your lips, rushing into the air and circling around you, hitting your ears until it faded into silence again, the television still muted. You hadn’t found the courage to listen to the newscasters’ voice, the images were enough to give you nightmares. 

It should have made you feel better knowing his past, especially when you had listened when he told you about his life in the military. How he had seen things, but the benefits of the structure he craved overpowered his reasons his reasons to leave.  _“People see bad things every day.”_  He said it as though you would understand, you, someone who worked in administration for the emergency department. The person who searched for patients insurances, family members, and scheduled follow-up care and life-saving surgery. You had seen  _nothing_ , not like Dex had. You hadn’t even come close to it.

Benjamin wanted you to have a gun, he wanted you to be able to protect yourself, a desperation in his eyes as he asked you, needing you to be safe. You felt like you were breaking his heart when you refused, shaking your head as you clutched your wine glass, not wanting to ruin an enjoyable evening with work talk.  _“Guns, statistically invite more violence to an otherwise normal conversation, babe,”_  you had argued, thinking it was a winning line. Benjamin was quicker, statistics falling from his tongue as though he had the database imported into his mind.

Usually, you were able to think straight. You were organised, logical, even if your heart always tried to lead your decisions. You knew, if you just took a breath, you would be able to remind yourself that Benjamin was safe, because  _of course_ , he was. He was Benjamin Poindexter, a man who was so precise and careful you had never seen him spill food— _nevermind_  have a stain on his brilliantly white shirt. But right now, the sound of the clock ticking seconds away, the gut feeling in your stomach, something screamed at you that everything  _had_  changed.

There had been something in the air when you had your break, and you wished you had listened to it. A crispness to New York that never existed in the fall, and you had wanted to call him, check in with him, even if you only reached his voicemail. The hairs on the back of your neck had stood up when you passed under the trees with your hands stuffed in your pocket—one around your lanyard with your keys, and the other around your phone—as you walked around the grounds. It hadn’t felt like it usually did, and you wished you had taken notice of it. 

Benjamin never  _usually_  allowed you to walk around alone at night, insisting you called him when you wanted a walk, and if you were honest, the sound of his voice often calmed you down from wanting to scream at a doctor. It had been his only request after what occurred in Spring when you had walked home alone. He had been late, something had happened over at the bureau he couldn’t inform you about early enough—and like you had done  _for so long_ before you had met him—you had merrily skipped to his, only to be mugged. And,  _thankful_  that was all. It had been enough to scare him, to want to wrap you in bubble wrap and remind you that you were his to protect. That he needed you. You were quick to tell him that the reason no scratch on your body, and you had kept all of your possessions, was because of one New York person, a guardian angel you had thought until photographs of him showed he was a devil instead.

Like usual, when his anger was unmeasurable, and his feet paced holes into his floorboards, Benjamin  _hadn’t_  been able to listen to reason, and you hadn’t had the strength to drive the point home, relaxing into his arms purposefully as he continuously brushed your shoulder, forcing his feet to stop. The two of you had stood like that for an hour, his breathing slowly lowering, and the tension in his muscles slowly fading until he felt natural to hold.  

There was nothing you wished for more now than him. With a face without scrapes or cuts on, that was attached to a chest with a beating heart and working lungs and arms attached. You hoped for softening eyes the moment he saw you and a shy smile that seemed to crop up when you did something silly.

You couldn’t blink the tears fast enough as the news crew got closer to the wreckage. The flipped over cars, the damage to the street, it forced the lump in your neck to grow three sizes bigger, and the paper in your hand fall to the floor in a thud. You were only grateful they didn’t cascade over the floor, and you were thankful your chair hadn’t rolled away when you fell into it, your body landing in a huff as your eyes stared at the television.

Benjamin  _would_  be okay.

Benjamin was  _trained_  for situations like the one tonight.

But then… why  _hadn’t_  he called.

* * *

“Lobby’s secure.”

He didn’t wipe at the blood on his cheek, moving beside  _The Convict_  as Nadeem forced him to walk. The blood in his ears was pounding, adrenaline running through his bones as he tried to stifle the smile he wanted to share. Letting it out, the animal inside of him, it had felt nice, it had felt refreshing.

So often, Dex felt forced to bottle it, to protect those around him, and more often than not, the rigid structure he had set never allowed it to come out. ‘ _Psychotic tendencies’_. That is what they were called when he felt something take over him, anger blind-siding him as his hands did things he didn’t think about, targets being met without much thought. The sound of his knives meeting the assailant’s necks could still be heard even now, it wasn’t an enjoyable sound, but he didn’t detest it either.

‘ _…—Two agents in surgery now—…’_

Dex briefly wondered who they could be. He considered if it could be Andrews, he had checked Foster, knew he was down. Too many bullets, too much blood.

‘ _…—We lost five moving this shit bag—…’_

Torres most likely, solid agent, Dex thought, not as gifted with quick decision making. His eyes scanned every corner, each step they took up the staircase, Dex’s eyes were trained in front, his senses hooked into every sound, every scent. The rich taste of copper was on his tongue, but he made no movement to rid himself of it. Not yet, not until The Convict was in place.

Up in front, he saw two smartly dressed people, and the desire to roll his eyes was strong, but Dex kept himself in place. He centred himself, thought of what he had achieved, the possible lives he had spared, the fact he had done a good job.

“We’re his attorneys.”

Smirking quickly. “ _Congratulations_ , stay back,” Dex bit back sharply, as they turned a corner.

Dex had no opinions on elevators, but he despised confined spaces with a large number of people. He didn’t like the chance they would brush against him, skin meeting his, but in this hotel, it was  _far_  worse. The elevator was disgustingly small, especially stuffy with three agents and one convict, but he tried to bite back his disgust. Dex swallowed the forming scoff in his throat, forcing himself to remember to breathe through his nose and focus on that. He concentrated on staring at the back of his head, the one he could put down if the FBI would allow him too. The  _one_  who this entire evening was for.

He hoped Convict could feel his stare, how sharp it was, how direct and purposeful it was.

It intensified with each floor the elevator passed, his anger hardening, becoming more significant than himself as Dex noticed the ‘ _PH_ ’ lit light. It twisted in his stomach, making him nauseous, making him want vengeance.  _The Convict_ didn’t deserve this, he should be rotting, paying for his choices and mistakes, for endangering lives, lives including Y/N’s.

_Y/N…_

“Get the medic,” Nadeem called out as they exited the elevator.

Dex, distracted by sudden thoughts of her, ashamed he had forgotten her existence, shot Nadeem a harsh look. “ _He’s_  fine—”

“—Not for him,” Nadeem offered back, in a nicer tone than Dex was sure he deserved. “For me.”

Rolling his eyes, an unsettled sensation mixing with adrenaline, Dex moved to push past them. “Copy that. The  _Shitbag’s_  all yours.”

He was set to move, set to fulfil his requirements and find a place to call her. To tell her he was okay, thinking of all those agents turning up at her place of work, a spiralling amount of thoughts hammering his brain when he felt a touch. A hand wrap around his arm, pulling him back, pulling him away from the progressing Convict and agent.

“Dex… hold on. Check in with the SAC.”

Call it military background, or the adrenaline, but Dex looked him up and down. He looked at Ray Nadeem—his colleague—like he was nothing. And Dex felt nothing about doing so. “We’re down too many agents. The debrief  _can_  wait.”

Nadeem didn’t bend, he didn’t flinch. Almost like he chose to ignore his tone. “You know the deal. Follow the  _protocol_ ,” a wave of shame passing over Dex, his shoulders relaxing, “and get back here ASAP.”

Clenching his fist, shooting a murderous look at the Convict as he passed, Dex moved into the room, noticing the agents already in post, the computers set up. He knew his focus should have been on reaching Hattley, Dex knew that was the protocol, but his fingers cracked at his side, his bones shifting into place as he turned into the empty room.

“Get the SAC,” he ordered, pulling out his mobile.

Three clicks, it was all it took to load her number—her face and name. It dialled once, twice—

Then her timid voice met his ear. 

“Hey, Y/N,” he whispered, licking his bottom lip, ignoring the sting. “Don’t… cry, look, I know, it must have been  _really_  hard—”

Tilting his head to the side, catching Lim’s eyes as he nodded for him to come over, he nodded rigidly.

“—I have to go. I’m fine—look, go to mine after your shift,  _alright_? Straight to mine, get a cab, don’t talk to  _anyone_ —Y/N, just—”

Dex sighed, his fingers wrapping around his phone tighter. Even as he was saying the words, he hated that she would be alone. There were menacing people out there, people who had just shot at a convoy, people who would hurt her—people he needed to protect her from.  

“—Please, go to mine, put on one of my shirts—I know that helps  _you_ —lock the door, alright? And I’ll be there when I’m done; we can talk. It’s not good to bottle things up, but just for now,  _alright_? I’ll be there, soon.”  

Her faint sniffle cut down to his chest, the room spinning out into nothing, as though it was just him, alone in the darkness, her voice is all he had to root him. ‘ _Do you promise_?’ It was nothing, a simple question, but it cost him a second of thinking time, his brain blanking. It was one question, one that should have been easier to answer, but Dex stammered, struggling, not able to find a soothing word—a compassionate answer pre-programmed into him. 

Dex heard his heart thump in his chest, the second-hand on his watch tick, and the muffled sound of someone calling his name. He needed to think, answer—speak. 

Clearing his throat, Dex sighed heavily. “Of course, Y/N. I’ll always come back.” His eyes shot to Lim’s, his hand holding the phone up he assumed would be the SAC. “I love you too, Y/N. I really do.” 


	3. III

“It’s Special Agent Poindexter,  _isn’t_  it?—” 

Dex shifted his weight, nearly breaking focus before trying to regain it. He had put up a small amount of protest about being in the room with  _him_.  But in the end, a task was a task, and he wouldn’t shy away from being around him. 

For a minute at least, Dex had clamped his palms together behind his back, facing forward and trying to remember what her skin felt like, what her smile was like. He had briefly seen her when he had taken a break, her hand holding out a duffle bag with some fresh clothes inside. He couldn’t help but notice the relief on her face, but the bags under her eyes were what worried him. 

“—You saved my life last night.” **  
**

Dex swallowed, annoyed at the interruption as he tried to focus on the bird outside the window. The one that did not care for good or bad; for heroism and evil. “Yeah, well, we  _all_  make mistakes.”

It rolled bitterly from his tongue, a harshness that left no lingering taste for him but assumed left something ringing in  _his_  ears. Dex centred his head back on the bird until it flew away from the ledge. Disappointment crawling up him as Dex tightened his jaw. 

The Convict, it seemed, didn’t know when to remain silent. “I’m sorry for the loss of your fellow agents. Losing them to protect someone  _like me_ …must be particularly difficult for the families and the  _loved_  ones.” 

Dex doesn’t meet his eyes purposefully, knowing it is precisely what  _he_  wants. It’s ‘ _textbook’_  prisoner. It’s obvious, and it pissed Dex off more than it should. He knew nothing about what those agents wanted or the ones that were left behind; The Convict didn’t know what it was like to stare into the eyes of someone fearful they wouldn’t return—like he had done only that morning. 

“I’d offer my condolences,  _but_  I imagine it brings them greater comfort to hate me. Unless  _you_  feel otherwise. That my words might bring any positive effect. If so, please share that, from what I witnessed, they were incredibly brave.”

He felt his finger crack as Dex held his composure, he could feel the vein in his neck appearing as he bowed his head—just for a second. This wasn’t what he signed up for, to babysit an adult. 

Dex raised his eyes and met the window again. “You  _might_  want to eat faster, Convict. Your meals over in five.”

But he didn’t stop, not even if Dex had wanted him too. Words spewed from him, falling from his mouth as though they were supposed to feel something, to make Dex  _think_  something. He tried to drown them out, think of her smile or her laugh, but none of it helped, a whirring sound beginning to grow in his ears. 

“But, I also owe you.” It stole his attention, and Dex couldn’t help it, his stare met his—Fisk’s. “I’ve known  _extraordinary_  people, but I’ve never seen a talent like yours. May I ask you where acquired such a skill?”

He thought about it. He considered humouring him, throwing him a bone. And then he remembered what was asked of him—his job, the reason he was even wearing these clothes with a badge in his pocket. Dex snapped back into place. He recognised and realised he needed to focus, training himself to come back, and remember his training. 

Dex moves his feet before he even thinks too. His hand outstretched as he clutched the tray, shooting  _The Convict_ one, single glare—a look that should answer all of his questions, but hopefully left him with only more.

“You’re done.”

It’s all Dex said as he moved to leave the room. It’s all he needed to say as he exited the room, taking a deep breath on the other side. 

* * *

Dex hated the small room. He hated the scent; he hated the certificates on the wall and the books on the bookshelf. But most of all, Dex hated this man wasn’t Dr Mercer. And he hated how he always gave him that look, the one where he  _assumed_  Dex had done something wrong. 

He wasn’t there. Instead, Dr Myman was assigned his office, with no blood on his hands; he was allowed to sit in an office, with his clipboard, and look at Dex purposefully because he used ‘lethal force’. 

People had died. 

Good agents. 

“I lost friends today,” Dex had mumbled when he had sat down. “More than I did to protect  _him_.”

It hadn’t mattered, it never did. 

It had barely been a day. The cuts on his face had barely healed, and the bruises on his hands had barely developed. But yet, Dex was here, suffering through a psychological evaluation just because he had a history. Because he tended to do shit other people wouldn’t. 

_Lethal force. Multiple suspects.  
Multiple suspects. Lethal force. _

Dex had said as much to Dr Myman. If he wore a mask, he would be hailed a hero. People wouldn’t avert their eyes when he entered the building; his colleagues would pay him on the back—although, he wasn’t too sure he’d like that, it would be far better than mutters. 

He knew he had done the right thing. He had seen targets, assailants who were a threat, and Dex had handled it. He single-handedly diffused a situation; he protected the Convict, and he protected the few agents who were still breathing. Dex had done the right thing. 

_Lethal force. Multiple suspects.  
Multiple suspects. Lethal force._

Dr Myman sighed, putting the cap on his pen. “Forget… everything else, and tell me, how are you really?” 

Dex felt he had answered that question a thousand times already. Although, he wasn’t sure he had ever told the truth at any time. She had asked, [Y/N]. Nadeem had asked. Now him. 

Rolling his shoulder, averting his eyes as he let out a slow breath, Dex swallowed. “It’s hard,” he sighed, “it’s really hard.” 

He ran a hand over his face, tracing his bottom lip with his tongue. The walls were coming in, just enough for him to notice, and enough to raise his pulse.

“The thing is events like this exact a toll. Repeating traumatic experiences compounds that toll, creating a pressure.”

Dex snorted, rolling his eyes as he leaned further back into the chair. “Until one day I go  _postal_? Yeah, I get it.”

Dr Myman inhaled sharply, but Dex didn’t soften. “The point is, you have to process this stuff.”

Dex nodded because he felt it was what he was supposed to do. He flexed his hands against the arms of the chair, grazing his nail against the side as he let out a breath. 

“Do you have a support system?” 

Smirking, Dex nodded. “I think she’d prefer to be called [Y/N].”

* * *

It had all begun in the restaurant.

Your hand had been resting on his, your fingers sliding up and down his index finger with a sly smirk. You hadn’t seen Benjamin for two days, not properly anyway. The incident combined with your shift pattern had kept the two of you apart, but he had made it here, and with the sight of him in person, and him in a suit, your mind had gone a little wild.

You remembered, some time in passing, you had heard that worry and dramatic events affected a person far more significant than they could understand. You suspected you were having one now; you had been having one since you saw the events unfold on the television. 

It only worsened when he had talked about how difficult work had been, how he had been forced to see the bureau’s therapist. You could see the stress lines on his face and the tension in his shoulders, and you wanted to get him out of here. You wanted to relieve him off all of that, the two of you get air, and as far away from a stuffy restaurant as the two of you could be. It helped that the hunger you had initially felt was swallowed by lust as you slid your knee against his, seductively tilting your head as your hair fell over your shoulder. 

“I’ve missed you,” you cooed, keeping hold of his eye line. “I’ve been worried about you.” 

Benjamin half-smiled at your words—he never believed you, not really. The devilish cretin named doubt lived firmly in his brain, tainting sweet whispers and loving words. You would never tire of trying to make him understand, one day you’d rid it—after all, you had helped keep other parts of him falling from grasp.

“Yeah,” Benjamin said, turning his hand in yours, your fingers linking together.

You leaned forward, ignoring your menu in front of you as you said in a low voice, “No, I’ve… missed you.” 

His brow curved, and you looked at him through hooded lashes, trying to say all you wanted with only your eyes—not sure you’d have the confidence actually to tell him. It hadn’t taken Benjamin long to  _hear_  you, throwing some notes on the table to cover the drinks you had both not drank, and he hailed a taxi, your hand in his the entire time.

Benjamin kept to his side of the taxi as you continued to keep to the other, ever the gentleman. He occasionally glanced over at you, dancing his eyes up and down your legs, and you, having purposefully pulled up your dress to expose more skin, pretending to glance out of the window innocently. You wondered when it would be appropriate to tell him that underneath the dress, there was nothing. No lace between you, no hooks to free. Just skin and you, exactly how Benjamin liked it.

You had never given in to it before. 

He had asked, of course. You had complied in his apartment, or in yours, but never outside. The risk of losing him, the thrill of holding on to every moment had pushed you to be more courageous. The possibility of losing Benjamin had changed you, rattled you to your core, and you weren’t sure what would soothe it. But having him close, every inch of his skin against yours, that could help—and if it didn’t, you could try again. 

You decided in the lift was the opportune moment to tell him, moving close, your arms wrapped around one of his, as the words,  _‘I’m not wearing any underwear’_ , innocently rolled from your lips. The stare of disbelief dancing in his hazel eyes had forced your thighs to press together, in dire need of releasing some of the burning sensation coursing through them. 

The beep of the elevator interrupted his next thought, but the firm grip he had on your wrist and hand told you enough. 

Benjamin yanked his jacket from his arms as soon as the two of you were inside his home. You moved into the living area, turning slowly on the spot to face him. He was uncaring where he threw his jacket as it skidded into the corner of the kitchen—something  _completely_  out of character for him. It caused lust to spread into your stomach, your eyes widening as you drank him in—he was here,  _alive_ , well.

You took a step backwards, passion and darkness swirling in your usually bright eyes; his tongue traced his lips, his chest heaving as he regarded you—watching as you pulled the straps of the black dress down past your shoulders, letting the silk material fall down your body like water before it met the ground. 

Call it boldness, but you didn’t feel cold. You didn’t feel a tingle as the air in Benjamin’s home washed over you. You were entirely lit by the moment, by you want and need. 

It had been evident that Benjamin hadn’t believed you when you said you were bare underneath—not that you could blame him, and you weren’t sure who would break first. Your eyes focused on his shirt—the buttons that looked close to bursting as he wiped his mouth. You counted, only making it to two before you saw him stride towards you, and you braced for the welcomed meeting of his hands on your waist, but it never came.

Benjamin’s hands, instead, grabbed your cheeks, pulling your lips to his in a kiss that stole your thoughts and breath. It screamed words you could only half make out, but he was glad you were here, and that was all that mattered. All of your worries dissolved as he touched you; all of your dread faded as though it never existed. His thumb dragged over your jawline as your hands softly met his waist, grasping at the cotton of his shirt. His lips slowly pulling from yours, his eyes staring into yours as you bit down on your lip, allowing your fingers to undo the top button.

There was nothing more you wanted than to rip his shirt from him. You needed to run your hands down his chest, over his abdomen, over possible bruises in the hope of healing them. You wanted to mould yourself to him, feel the warmth of his skin against yours.

“You can do it,” Benjamin whispered, slowly tracing his lips over yours as he let his breath dance over your skin. “ _Rip_ it.”

You swallowed, thinking of the mess— _thinking_  of the come-down from a passion filled moment. You thought of the buttons, and how it could drive him insane and you felt yourself tumbling, falling away from the moment as your thoughts began to take over—

“ _Y/N_ ,” Benjamin said darkly, pulling you back to him. He swallowed, pressing a chaste kiss to your swollen lips, tenderly extending his fingers into your hair. “I want you to do it.”

So  _you_  did.

The sound of buttons popping; the growl that came from his throat. It blossomed desire in between your legs as he snapped his mouth back to yours, his tongue sliding against your lips. Kissing Benjamin was an experience you had never had before meeting him. He kissed you like his entire existence depended on it—as though he may never have a chance to do it again.

After the day you had both endured, odd phones calls and sporadic texts, you didn’t blame him. You kissed him with the same determination, putting words you had wanted to say into each meeting of your lips. You wanted him, of course, but you also needed him. You needed him to fill you, to hold you close and let you familiarise yourself with each part of him, but you also needed to tell him you loved him, that you were  _glad_  he was safe.

Your world always shifted when your mouths brushed, time pausing as sound dimmed until only your heartbeats could be heard. You’d usually bask in, stay in the moment until it felt it needed to be broken, but tonight, you were desperate to have him inside of you.

Slowly, as your world began to shift back into place, you slid your fingers down his chest, hooking your fingers into his waistband, earning a soft groan against your lips. His trousers met the floor with a thud, but all you sported was a smile against his lips, one he seemed to ignore.

You walked him backwards, relishing in the feel of his skin against your palms. Your shoulder collided with the bedroom door frame, the back of his foot meeting the door, kicking it wide open as the back of his knees met the bed frame.

“ _Bend_ , Dex.”

You never used his nickname. It felt odd when it came off your tongue, but here, in the four walls of his bedroom together, it felt perfect. It rolled off your tongue, and his eyes stared at you hungrier for saying it.

Benjamin lowered himself to the bed, his shirt barely hanging on his shoulders as you slowly removed your feet from your heels. He looked at you full of bewilderment as if he didn’t feel you were real. You had seen that look before, but his eyes were distant, as though Benjamin wasn’t even in the same room. You hated bringing him back from that, holding him close to you as he crumbled apart. Tonight you didn’t need to do that, but there was no harm in reminding him how real you were. Leaning forward, you captured his lips as your hand slid up his thigh to rest on his growing bulge.

Your knees placed down either side of him, his eyes raking up and down your bare chest. He looked lost for a second, far away and not here. It didn’t sting—it didn’t hurt. You could feel how much he wanted you against your core, but you just felt worried, a pang in your chest as you pressed a kiss to the end of his nose.

“Get out of your head, Benjamin,” you said as sweetly as you could, tracing your nail down his cheek.

His hand rose, taking ahold off your chin as the other placed itself on your hip. “I never did say.”

“Hmm,” you mewed, enjoying the feel of his fingers tightening their hold as you rose up, freeing him from his boxers.

You couldn’t help but stare down, hungrily wanting him as his fingers gripped your hip bone tighter as he pulled you closer.

“I’ve  _really_  missed you too.”

Smiling, you licked your lips, watching as he struggled to swallow. “Yeah?” He nodded as you smirked. “ _Prove_  it.”

And  _he_  did.

You could barely think as he pulled you down on to him, the slight, but wanted burn as he stretched you, reminding you how good he felt inside of you. Benjamin’s mouth met your breast, and the soft moan that passed your lips danced around the room as you rolled your hips against his and his tongue circled your nipple. You  _wouldn’t_  last long, the hand that had moved from your hip to your back spread out, rocking you as he thrust into you.

Without thought you parted your thighs, your head falling back as your eyes closed, your lips parting. You were usually conscious of your body, but in the dim lighting coming from the living room, you didn’t care. Benjamin was  _here_. Benjamin was  _holding_  you, and  _fucking_  you, and  _you_  just  _didn’t_  care.

“Missed you,” you moaned as he thrust deeper, the words falling out with a breath.

His teeth nipped at your collarbone, his tongue tracing your skin as the pads of his fingers dug deeper into the skin on your back. You wondered briefly if you’d have bruises, something to prove he had been here at all as you lifted your head, meeting his dark eyes that were fixed on you.

Benjamin seemed to read you, his eyes becoming hungrier as he picked up speed as his mouth attached itself to your neck, sucking lightly as he nipped and he bit. You were sure if you listened carefully enough, you’d hear the faint sounds of ‘ _mine_ ’, and a knot began to tighten in your stomach at the thought. 

He nuzzled into your neck, his lips occasionally brushing your skin as you fought for breath, your nails dig half-moons into his shoulders. He looked at you as though you had all the answers, as though you were a light that shone brighter than any other, and it thrilled you. It made you wetter; it made you want him to go even deeper until he bruised you. You wanted to be his forever and ever and ever—

“You’re  _my_  everything,” he growled against your skin, his chest slick with sweat as he looked down where the two of you met.

It could have been his words. It could also have been the angle, but the pressure inside of you was close to erupting. The frustration of evenings alone and missed calls had woven its way into your need for him, everything inside of you twisting as you moved against him as he thrust up into you. The rhythm you had built was starting to be lost, your forehead speckled with sweat as your hair clung to the back of your neck. Your eyes began to see only spots, even as you closed them; your mouth was letting sounds escape you had no control over, and your breath harder to keep hold off.

“There, right  _there_ ,” you panted.

The building sensation difficult to keep hold off, the knotting off every fibre, the shaking of your legs, it was too much, but you wanted more and more, and with a final thrust, Dex lit the match that sent a fire coursing through your entire body. Every cell in your skin lit up, forcing you to glow as a squeal left your lips, hitting his ears as he continued to take you over the edge.

Benjamin held onto you  _tighter_ , and with a grunt and a moan, you felt him join you, the two of you falling conjoined together as you shook and spasmed.

He took you down as he collapsed down onto the bed, your chest meeting his as a smile etched its way over your face. You lazily kissed him, brushing his cheek sloppily as your chests heaved and your breaths danced over each other’s faces.

Benjamin was  _here_. 


	4. IV

Dex knew as soon as she pulled away from him, the words would come. Even as he held her close, kissing her skin, Dex could feel her anger and fear. Admittedly, he was sure the fewer calls and harsher tone he had given when the two of them had finally spoken hadn’t helped, but Y/N didn’t understand what it was like doing his job. A sentence he knew he couldn’t say without causing a substantial argument to appear.  

Dinner had been an action that would require so little words but should explain everything without the need for him to be open. It hadn’t worked, apparently. Her eyes were watching him with a look he couldn’t recognise.

“I just  _worry_  about you, Dex,” she whispered against his chest, her fingers tracing in circles against his skin.

He tried to swallow, thinking desperately over what to say. “I hadn’t thought how hard it must be for you,” Dex tried, hoping it would be enough. “It must be hard…” He sighed, pulling his eyes away as he felt himself frown, “ _really_  hard.”

Unexpectedly, she seemed to tense against him, he found her spine more curved, a heavy breath dancing over his chest as her eyes deflected. Her heart was resting on his arm, and Dex was sure it had stopped. Dex dipped his chin, hoping to meet her eyes when he found they were sparkled with fresh tears she seemed to be fighting.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Dex added, hoping his words came out as reassuring as he meant them to be. “I’m  _always_  going to be okay.”

Her mouth twitched, and her leg moved against him as he looked down at their two tangled naked bodies. Sometimes, even when he could feel her breath, Dex couldn’t quite believe she was here, willingly. 

He wanted to enjoy the moment, relax into her the same as she was relaxing into him, but he couldn’t, the incessant  _need_  to check the door, the idea that her dress was screwed up on the floor. 

Dex lifted slightly, watching as she slid from him peacefully, and he wasn’t sure how to say that being with her, made everything okay; Dex wasn’t sure how he could put into words how much she meant to him, without struggling. Dex couldn’t explain, as his mind travelled to thoughts of his keys and wallet, how he would always be okay, just for her. 

It seemed she knew what he was thinking, her hand reaching to brush his arm, and while he knew that she was being understanding, there still was a disappointment in her eyes. It hung there, taunting him, even as her lips said, “Go… it’s  _fine_.”

He remembered when he had been seeing Dr Mercer and the topic of the word, ‘ _fine_ ’ had come up. She had told him that people used it when they couldn’t find a better word to say and that more often than not,  _whoever_  spoke it, was  _not_  fine. 

Even as Dex knew this, and knew clearly Y/N  _wasn’t_  fine, he still nodded, and slowly moved until he could stand. His hands reached for his boxers before stepping into them, pulling them up his legs as he felt her eyes remain on him.

Dex never questioned whether he should want to remain in bed with her until he was stood in the kitchen, his hands hovering over the mugs as he straightened them. Licking his lips, Dex stepped towards the door, turning the lock until he heard it click, moving the chain over as he straightened the photo frame of the two of them. 

“Do you want any water?” Dex called, hearing her feet padding around the bedroom. 

He edged her bag to be perpendicular with the edge of the counter, the sound of a hanger hitting the wardrobe wall hitting his ears. 

“No, I’m alright,” Y/N replied, and Dex moved through to the living room. 

Folding her dress and moving her shoes to the side of the carpet, before he swallowed and turned back around as he flicked the light off. Dex found her in the same place on the bed, more curled up, eyes still shimmering with tears, and a pensive look on her face.

He nudged against her knee with his hand, tilting his head up. “Move up.”

Dex flicked your bedside light on as she moved against the sheets, and it was instinct to press a kiss to her forehead, he had done it once early on, and YN had liked it. She had said it made her smile—Dex truly loved to make her smile. It brightened his day, month, year. Her head resting on her hand, her other hand tangled in his, a bright, beautiful smile across her face, it was perfection. 

Pulling the sheet up, watching as she moved beneath it, Dex slipped in beside her. The worried look, the one he hated, still met him, and the frustration he felt didn’t simmer as he felt her hand move across his chest, pulling him close.

“I’m sorry I ruined dinner.”

Dex raised his brow as he moved onto his side, needing to face her as he moved a hand under the sheet, resting it on her waist, feeling the fabric of one of his shirts. “I don’t think we can ever call  _that_  a waste.”

She laughed, sweet and soft—it sounded like music, and it danced through his ears. “You know what I mean.”

“It’s dinner, Y/N,” Dex replied, tracing a circle on her thigh. “I’d really rather be with you, and just you.”

* * *

Dex spun his phone in between his fingers, his eyes focused on the monitor in front of him. It was  _just_  another day where he happened to be forced to monitor  _The Convict_. The meal with Y/N seemed so long ago, but even Dex knew it had barely been two days. 

He was tense, especially when he hadn’t heard from Y/N in several hours, his text messages not being read, his calls going to voicemail. He had thought her worry had diminished, but he was beginning to consider that he had misread the situation entirely. Before he had met her, his unhealthy habit of watching Julie had begun to reach a new height—he had even almost missed meetingY/N because of it.

Dex’s job provided structure, but it also brought unwarranted thoughts. He supposed, when Mercer had told him to find a job with structure, he wasn’t supposed to find someone to share his life with. Maybe she thought he was unloveable; perhaps he was too difficult to love. His wild rages and unpredictable anger were hard to stomach, even if he was the one living through them. They took over him, blinding his thoughts and binding him from being able to calm himself.

Y/N helped with that; Y/N helped centre him. 

His fist clenched, his teeth gnawing at the skin on his lip, thoughts becoming disarrayed as he flicked through various scenarios. It wasn’t like Y/N not to reply, she understood him better than many had ever been able to. She understood what it  _meant_  to him for her to reply, and the fact she hadn’t replied still only proved something was wrong. 

If Dex had already been troubled, his day became a lot worse as he noticed Hattley and Winn arrive. The emptiness in his stomach worsened, listening to Hattley ask him to wait outside, his phone digging into his palm as he nodded, standing up from his place at the monitors. 

Blood seemed to pound in his ears, his fingers flexing against his side as he tried to breathe, tried to remain here in the present as the walls began to shake. Dex worked to remember the feel of Y/N’s hand on his face, the way her fingers slid into his hair when he felt stressed, focusing on the striped wallpaper as he heard the door open again behind him as he paced, seeing Nadeem half-heartedly smile at him.

Dex knew Nadeem was going to try to make him feel better. But what followed did only the opposite. His skin prickled, the air tainted around the two of them. Dex felt angry; he felt betrayed. 

He felt  _abandoned_.  

And he  _still_  hadn’t heard back from Y/N.

Trying to remain calm, he bit the inside of his cheek, nodding as Nadeem continued to speak. 

_It would be inappropriate of me to tell you this…_

Y/N was probably caught up doing something—probably something for someone else. She was always helping others, even at the risk of her own stress levels. It’s why he loved her—she was selfless, good, and unbroken. 

….h _as launched an internal investigation into the motorcade attack._

If he thought about it too long, Dex wasn’t sure how he had even deserved her never mind kept her. Letting out a huffed breath, Dex tilted his head to the side, cracking his neck as he allowed the feeling to wash over him.

_…there’s a slight discrepancy between your office report and the forensic analysis…_

_Don’t sweat this._

_Don’t sweat this._

**Y/N:**  Signal in this place is getting even worse, hope you’re day is going well?! 

* * *

You checked your message twice before sending it, sinking into your desk chair as you looked at the only photo on your desk. Benjamin and you; FBI Agent Poindexter and an administrator. You weren’t sure how you had got so lucky, but you knew it was never good to ask the universe why you had been blessed. 

Running a hand through the front of your hair, you spun on your chair until you were seated behind your desk, wiggling the mouse as the PC screen came on. Your eyes burned at the brightness, the lack of sleep catching up with you as you tried to pull at your cheeks to wake yourself up. You didn't want to admit that you had been struggling to sleep, you knew how Benjamin could worry. 

He had enough to worry about without adding your things to his plate. 

Ever since the incident with the motorcade, you hadn’t been able to stop your anxiety and worry from spiralling. For a second, or two, you'd find yourself smiling, laughing, and then you'd remember and find yourself unable to stop yourself from unravelling. All you could think was  _Benjamin had been there_. Your _Dex_. FBI Special Agent, who was also _your_ boyfriend. He could have died, but instead, he saved the lives of all he could.

You had always known how dangerous his job was, and you also knew if anyone could look after themselves, it was going to be him, but you still couldn’t stop the worrying. There was no difference between you and the other partners of those who hadn’t made it—they were young, full of kindness and joy. Benjamin had spoken on occasion about them, talked about them having a family, them all being close. They didn’t deserve for their worlds to be ripped in half, just the same as yours didn’t, but theirs had. 

It was hard not to feel guilty, especially as you sat behind a desk, in the very place some of them were being treated in. It was hard to keep your emotions at the door when everyone still whispered about what had happened; even as you pinched your wrist, trying to breathe like you knew you should, nothing could silence the voice in your head: 

_You could lose him one day._

Thankfully, your phone vibrated, your heart skipping a beat as you clumsily made a grab for it. 

**Benji** : You worried me, glad you’re okay. Things are fine here, I'll meet you later.

It wasn’t a question, but you didn’t mind.

You weren’t someone who currently felt comfortable walking back to your apartment—especially when you knew his was closer. Ever since what had happened, and your phone would lose signal repeatedly, the streets of Hell’s Kitchen— _and even New York_ —had become tainted. Crime seemed to be all around; you weren't even sure you'd be able to evade it.

* * *

Dex had been tempted to look at the recordings for longer than he cared to admit. Initially, Dex had hidden out at the bar, trying desperately to distract himself. He checked his phone more often, nibbling on the inside of his mouth, hearing occasion whispers—voices that he knew  _weren’t_  real. 

Then he began knocking his knuckles against the wood of the table, focusing on the sound—focusing on the drilling noise caused by his touch against the object. Something twisted inside of him, and it continued to turn as he walked back to the Monitoring Room. Dex could feel morality slipping further from his grasp as he stared at Lim He could get them out of the room, without even breaking a sweat, but if he did, he wasn’t sure how he would be able to come back from it.

Never mind what Y/N would think…. 

Y/N. The woman who loved him. 

He let out a frustrated sigh, throwing his phone onto the desk as he raked his nails through his hair. A fluttering, almost a prickling, sensation began to spark over his head, and he tried to focus on Y/N’s face, tried to remember her voice, tried to remember what she was wearing—

“ _Poindexter_?” Dropping his hands, Dex nodded his head up at Lim. “Thought you’d been relieved?”

Dex let out a puff of air before shooting a reassuring smile. “Yeah…” 

Lim looked at him, and Dex knew he needed to relax, forcing himself to soften his shoulders, to wear a comforting smile, to try and appear normal. 

“You should go get a coffee,” Dex offered. “I’ll cover, don’t sweat it.” He added a smile, one he often practised—one that didn’t come easily when he wasn’t with Y/N. “My  _treat_.”

He waited, but Lim nodded, thanking him as he was half-way out the door. Dex still waited, waiting for the door to meet the frame with a click, and he let the weight in his shoulders sink off of him properly. Dex darted over to the screens, furiously clicking before rewinding the footage.

Dex wasn’t sure what  _he_  would find.

Dex wasn’t even sure if he could cope with whatever he saw, but he needed to see it. 

He needed to know if it was all over—if his life was about to crumble around him. The structure. His  _passion_. Would it all fall around him?

Losing control of his breathing, Dex’s felt his palms begin to dig further into the desk, listening as Winn asked a question directly to  _The Convict_ , and Dex watched as he took his time. 

Pausing. Breathing. 

Using all his time as a man free as The Convict could. 

Dex’s heart was in his throat, thumping, pressing against his vocal cords as he tried to keep himself in the room. The walls around him began to crack, Y/N’s face twisting in anguish as he felt himself slowly shattering into nothing.

_…“Special Agent Poindexter gave them a chance to surrender, but then their weapons came up to shoot him, he killed them both in self-defence.”…_

Letting out a relieved breath, Dex dipped his head, pressing his chin to his chest as he clenched his eyes shut. He saw visions of Y/N grinning, her laugh distantly sounding in his ears. He let another slow breath out, lifting his head as the footsteps of Hattley and Winn left, and he stared into the eyes of Fisk through the monitor.

The eyes of someone who has just saved his skin; someone who knew what they had done for Dex. 

Dex, in shock, stepped back, his hand coming up to meet his mouth.

He leaned forward, pressing the button to turn off the cameras. Dex needed answers. He needed to know  _why_ —especially when it was so out of the ordinary, when The Convict knew nothing about him.

Y/N  _would_  forgive him. He was sure of it. He tucked his shirt into his trousers, adjusting his jacket as he left the monitoring room, pushing open the door leading to The Convict.

* * *

You weren’t surprised to leave work and find Benjamin outside, a sheepish expression on his face and a bagful of food in his hand. Adjusting the strap of your back on your shoulder, you sauntered out with a smile plastered on your face. It was the Dex smile—the,  _I’ve found the man of my dreams_ , smile. The rest of your colleagues teased you about it when he visited, but you didn’t care anymore. You loved him.  _All of him._

The cold air swept over your face, making you shudder as you approached him, and Benjamin frowned at your reaction.

“Hey, good-looking,” you teased, watching his head shake, but the downcast look didn’t disappear completely. “Long day?”

Dex gave you a look—the I-can’t-talk-about-it-but-I-want-to look. You wrapped your arm around his, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek as you watched the corners of his lip twitch as he led you down the street.

“Y’know, when I ask you that, I don’t expect to hear all the  _confidential_  bullshit? Just about  _you_.” You poked his chest pointedly as he pressed the button to cross. “You can answer that can’t you, _Dexie_?”

He shot you a stern stare, and you were forced to bite the inside of your cheeks to stop yourself from laughing. “I hate  _that_  nickname, I’d sooner you call me Benjy again.”

You rolled your eyes, watching the red man change to green. “And I remember painfully how hard of a time that was,” you taunted.

Dex took your hand in his, giving it a squeeze. “I’m  _alright_.”

“You sure?” You asked. “I can read you, y’know?” He tensed, you felt it against you and witnessed it in the way he walked. “Dex,” you tried, pulling him to the side as you tilted your head. “I know you were there that night, and I know you. I know that you saved that wretched man’s life and…I know how hard it must be that people are talking about the events of that night so… _painstakingly_  wrong.”

Benjamin’s eyes averted yours, and you would usually lose a little patience at it, but tonight, you didn’t. Using your hand, you gently cupped his chin, bringing his eyes to yours.

“You’re my hero,  _baby_. Always.”

Benjamin forced a smile, swallowing words or pain as he rubbed his thumb over your hip. “I got your favourite,” he said, lifting the bag with a soft smirk.

Laughing, you let your hand fall from his chin, your hands finding themselves looped together again. “See,  _my_  hero.”

“Who brings you Chinese and meets you from work?”

Shrugging, you grinned. “Well, now I don’t have to fight New York’s worst or hunt for food. It’s a dog eat dog world, babe, and you know—better than anyone—if the apocalypse happened, I’d be the first one dead.”

He chuckled, letting your fingers go as he wrapped his arm around your waist bringing you closer, pressing a short kiss to your forehead. “Y’know I’d never let that happen.”

“Because you’re my hero?” You taunt with an innocent smile.

The sadness seemed to fall from him, left behind on the street as he laughed. “No, Y/N, because I’ll never let anything happen to you.  _Ever_.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This is an archived piece originally posted on the tumblr, [mvtthewmurdvck](https://mvtthewmurdvck.tumblr.com/).


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